


unto treachery, unto defiance

by starryeyedfool



Series: Apostasy [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Dystopia, Gen, Prologue, Virtual Reality, advanced techology, ruling authority
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25004818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyedfool/pseuds/starryeyedfool
Summary: Look the shepherd in the eye, and ask him why he eats his flock.That blood, it tastes divine.
Series: Apostasy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816999
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: Challenge #4 — Into the Future





	unto treachery, unto defiance

**Author's Note:**

> No governing body, whatever guise they hide behind, will ever have the people's best interest in mind. 
> 
> It always goes like this.

P r e l u d e . 

* * *

Chains were his best look until it was his wrists locked above his head, his vision shrouded in black, with a pipe and an incessant leak somewhere furiously out of reach. Dehydration left him imagining he was a mineral trapped in concrete. Malnutrition wanted to show off his bones. But this did not break him. No. It would take much more, and much worse.

Blood never rushed anymore, and still he could hear his heart beat, beat, _beat_.

There… there was a melody, prodding for release. Strange, it was almost foreign for a moment, almost insignificant, almost forgotten. But no. No, he knew it too well. From cracked lips came the nation’s song in a most mocking manner. His voice was hoarse, but still he could sneer.

_Yes! Yes! Hear us sing_ _  
_ _The deserving are the esteemed_ _  
_ _Our life sustained_ _  
_ _By blood which reigned_ _  
_ _And may glory everlast_ _  
_ _Yes! Yes! LONG LIVE THE REGIME_

The last cries bounced off the damp walls like an echo to be lost in the dark. It was so… inspiring. Intoxicating. He could lose his mind in the reverence, it was a rush to his head that made him want to slow dance were he not shackled to the underground. He grinned one sinister grin, bottom lip splitting, bleeding, burning, and opened his mouth again to sing. The pain, the pain… the pain was nothing. 

_Ha, yes. Hear me sing_ _  
_ _Doomed are the esteemed_ _  
_ _Our freedoms, they maintain_ _  
_ _Through blood slain_ _  
_ _And so their glory will not last…_

  
  


_  
_ _… Death to The Regime._

希望

Here Baekhyun was, cuffed, being led to an arena that he had before tried so hard to never witness. The spectators roared their approval while the contestants looked on, hard faces, hearts numb, hiding the barest tremor of their hands. 

Overhead, an all encompassing screen was broadcasting each downturned head, but Baekhyun looked into the eyes of every spectator with disdain. He hoped they would watch. They should’ve known better.

Drone cameras flashed their lurid lights, capturing human fear and anger at every angle as they circled the air in a wide circumference. It was carnal want in those faraway eyes. The rich were hungry and the show would soon begin. 

Seven other so-called criminals, convicted by a golden gavel. Baekhyun was thrown into the circle. 

And so it began. 

Without warning, the floor fell away, the scene turned to black, and although he was not truly falling, he felt his heart lurch as if to jump out of his mouth and escape this sentence. This illusion was made to evoke terror. He stood firm on a vast, black emptiness, some unidentifiable light illuminating only him. And he was alone.

The wind whistled behind him. Baekhyun turned and found no one. “Jongdae?” he whispered. He didn’t know what he was expecting. 

Red, brown, yellow, white. Pixels, innumerable, building upon each other in front of him to form a rusted and beaten car, the open doorway of a decrepit building eaten away by sandstorms. Hot wind blew into him, and there was the heat of the orange sun. He was already burning. Yes, this was Hell. 

A pop-up window projected in front of him, glowing purple, only the size of a tablet monitor. It read: 

_Location: Sands of Perdition._

“Clearly,” Baekhyun said, waving the pop-up away. Lifting his hand to shade his eyes, he looked up to a red sky and the tops of sandstone structures. Not a cloud, bird, or drone in sight. Not a sound of life. Illusions, illusions. 

Baekhyun pushed back his black hair, matted now with sweat. “Where would I hide,” he began to say, “if I were a bastard?” 

He turned and surveyed the desolate road. Metal glinted from a paneless window, dark as carbon, obvious as day. Baekhyun bent down to retrieve a length of jagged metal, his movements precise. He braced himself, and smiled. 

“Where would I hide if I were Kim Jongdae?”

烽火

Sehun had a very specific routine. This routine was set forth by his exceptional mother, too busy to care for him in lieu of more significant matters. 

Her role in this world was important; more important than him. He soon understood. 

For 18 of his 22 years, he followed this routine like clockwork so that he might grow up to be as exceptional as his achieved mother. Very few changes were made. 

At age 15, he began an apprenticeship. 

At 16, he began to question. 

At 17, he schemed. 

At 18, he would be free.

From 18 until 21, those were the best years of his life. 

And the most recent year was agony. 

Ingrate. That’s what they would say if they knew how he felt after the incident. He should be forever grateful that he was born into high status, that he had paths laid for him to glory. How foolish of him to even think of turning away _opportunity_ , especially for that boy who he pathetically called a friend. 

Sehun was 18 when he found a friend for life, and he was 22 when he lost that friend to a game for the wealthy. But this must have kismet, for he was a son of the system, apprenticed to uphold it, and his friend, predisposed to lawlessness and disobedience, was nothing and would die nothing. Sehun was too good for his friend. They were never meant to form their acquaintance in the beginning. 

But what of those four years of friendship if Sehun did not adopt new ideals? 

  
  
  


Sehun was 22 when he vowed to dismantle The Regime.

复兴

**Author's Note:**

> 1312


End file.
